


Forget the Chicken (we’ll cross this road together)

by raiining



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Coming Out, M/M, Trans Character, Trans!Clint, Trans!Phil, Transphobia, internalized transphobia (minor)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-23
Updated: 2015-02-23
Packaged: 2018-03-14 19:24:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3422750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raiining/pseuds/raiining
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil hadn’t known.  Maybe he could have known - <i>should</i> have known - but he hadn’t.  That means he’s probably going to stay something stupid.  Still, anything would be better than jumping up and down and babbling <i>Me, you’re like me, we are the same,</i> which is what he <i>wants</i> to do.  </p>
<p>This isn’t about him, though, this is about Clint.  Phil will always do what he can to make things better for Clint.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forget the Chicken (we’ll cross this road together)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Transvengers Assemble, Part 1](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3349049) by [shadowen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowen/pseuds/shadowen). 



> Inspired by all the FABULOUS trans stories out lately, and most especially the Phil chapter of shadowen's Transvengers Assemble fics. HUGE THANKS to desert_neon for helping me with this fic. Thank you, beautiful.

Phil hadn’t known.

He _could_ have known - maybe he _should_ have known. He has access to Barton’s file, after all, but Fury had handed him the case with a weathered eye and said, “Kid gloves. Trust issues like you wouldn’t _believe_ ,” and so Phil hadn’t opened it. 

Instead, he’d walked into the conference room where Barton had been waiting - all tense, worried anticipation, a charity case Fury had picked up off the street, or so the rumours had said - and sat down. He’d pushed the file still in its plastic sleeve across to Barton, and looked him in the eye. “These pages won’t tell me what I already know, which is that Fury believes you’re agent material. Is there anything else you’d like to share with me?”

Clint had bristled. “I’m the world’s greatest marksman, and Fury’s an asshole.”

Phil had smiled. “Yes, he is.”

It had taken him time to learn more, but he’d managed it through patience and dedication. Clint liked green apples, bad science fiction, and hadn’t known how to swim. Phil had kept his fruit basket stocked, and had arranged for Clint to have access to the pool after hours, along with a qualified, discrete instructor. 

Clint had brought him coffee as a thank you, even if he hadn’t stayed long enough to watch Phil drink it. Phil had smiled into his triple latte. He’d learned the next day that Clint was also quite funny, once he started to relax. His chatter over the comms soon became the highlight of Phil’s ops. 

He’s nice, Phil knows now. He’s a good person, a good _man._

Except, it appears, that he isn’t.

Phil stares at the thin t-shirt Clint’s wearing. The outline of his binder is clearly visible - a hard line against his skin. Someone else might have mistaken it, assumed it was medical tape or bandages, but Phil knows what it is.

Knows it intimately.

Clint sees the direction of his gaze and twitches, crossing his arms. He glares at Phil with a suspicion Phil’s spent the past year breaking down. “Did you want something?” he growls.

“I - ” Phil starts. He’d been coming by Clint’s quarters to bring him the updated info on the Tokyo mission, but the pad is hanging forgotten in his hand. “I get it,” he says instead, gesturing to Clint’s chest. “I understand.”

Clint’s gaze narrows, and he frowns. “You… what?”

Phil twitches. He can’t quite help glancing around the corridor. He’s out as a gay man, and S.H.I.E.L.D. has no problem with that, but the rest of his personal details are strictly need to know. “Can I come in?”

Clint still looks suspicious, but he moves aside enough for Phil to squeeze past. Phil’s been in Clint’s room before, and it’s always intriguing - he likes to see what books he’s reading, what movies he has stacked on his desk, but he doesn’t look at any of that now. 

“I was born Penny Ann Coulson,” Phil begins, turning back so he can see Clint. He can’t quite help but duck slightly as he does, instinctively presenting a smaller target. “It was never right, but I didn’t know - I was eighteen before I understood what was going on, that there was a word for people like me. I ran away from home, joined the army, and lied on my enlistment form. The doctor understood, he - she - got it.”

Clint’s eye widen, but then narrow again. “No - _no_. You don’t wear a binder, I would have seen.”

Phil presses his lips together. “There was a mission, and I got shot. The doctors said on the way to the operating table that they’d do the best they could to save my breast, but I begged them to do a double mastectomy instead. They didn’t want to - I was high as a kite on morphine at the time - so they called Nick, and he authorized it. I woke up and - ” He can’t hold back a smile, not even after all this time. “ - they were gone.”

Some trans men don’t mind their breasts, Phil knows, but he’d always hated his. The moment they’d started developing, that’s when he’d known, in the pit of his stomach, that he was _wrong_.

Clint’s staring at him, though, so Phil shakes off the memory. “Anyway, that’s what I wanted to say. I understand. It’s okay. It doesn’t change anything.” He straightens, slides his Agent Coulson mask back in place, and hands Clint the Tokyo file. “The drop location has changed - we’re coming in from the north now.”

Clint still hesitates, but he takes the pad. Phil waits long enough for him to ask a question - any question - but he doesn’t. He just settles, uncrosses his arms, and thumbs on the Starkpad. “Fury finally listen to my suggestion, then?”

Phil smiles, the side of his mouth coming up. “Doesn’t he always?” He turns towards Clint’s door. “I’ll meet you on the tarmac at five.”

He doesn’t let himself pause as he exits. It doesn’t matter if he wants to talk, if finding out that Clint is like _him_ is the best, most unexpected thing that’s ever happened to him. This isn’t about what he wants now - it’s about Clint.

Clint doesn’t say anything as Phil lets himself out, except, “Sounds good, boss.”

Still, something between them does change. The walls that Phil has been patiently chipping away at come all the way down. Clint brings Phil coffee again, but this time he stays. The couch in Phil’s office becomes a de facto Clint Zone, and anyone looking for him knows they can find him there. Even after Natasha joins S.H.I.E.L.D. - a harrowing two weeks Phil wouldn’t relive if Nick paid him triple - Clint still comes by and sits, relaxed in a way Phil doesn’t otherwise get to see.

He becomes a little too invested in the way Clint sighs in pleasure when he sinks down onto that couch, the way his lips quirk up, his eyelids come down. He has to stop himself from wanting to see that look more often, in bed perhaps, happy and sleepy and satisfied. His admiration of Clint’s character has only grown the more he’s gotten to know him, and now that they’re out to each other, they’re more relaxed on missions, changing in the same room instead of vying for the bathroom instead.

It’s a welcome change, especially since Phil’s getting too old for the contortions needed to get into field gear in a cramped European half-bath, but it means that Phil’s gotten to see a lot more of Clint’s skin than he’s prepared to handle. It’s almost at the point where Phil should transfer Clint’s case to another handler, except that Clint’s due for a promotion to level six any day now, and Phil can keep himself in check until then. No one over level six has a permanent handler, and because Clint is staying in the field and Nick’s been making noises about transferring Phil to larger-scale base operations, they won’t even be in the same chain of command.

If Phil thought making a move would get him anywhere, that’s when he’d ask Clint out for coffee or dinner, but in the four years they’ve now been working together, Clint has never - not once - looked at him with interest. Respect, sure, professional and personal, and there was the one mission in Spain where they had to go undercover, but otherwise - no. Not once. And Phil’s been watching.

So, that means Phil can keep his crush hidden, just for a little longer, until Clint’s promoted and Phil’s transferred out. The situation is far from ideal, but it’s doable, and it means that Clint is the absolute _last_ person Phil wants to see right now, even above his parents, which would be a disaster on multiple levels.

“Coulson?”

Phil covers his face with his hands, unable to look at Clint, or acknowledge the concern in his eye. He’s leaning against a brick wall down the street from the apartment building he’s just come out of, and the sick feeling in his stomach is making him nauseous, and kind of like he wants to cry.

“Coulson? Phil? Just - are you okay?”

It’s the worry in Clint’s voice that makes Phil pull himself together - no matter what, Clint’s needs come first, and Phil will not let him suffer just because Phil’s feeling sorry for himself. He wipes his face and drops his hands, shifting his shoulders to try and summon some of his usual authority. It doesn’t work, but it’s better than nothing. “Yes, Clint. Hi. I’m fine, thank you.”

Clint doesn’t look like he believes him. He’s standing on the sidewalk peering at Phil with concerned eyes. He’s dressed in date clothes - close-fitting jeans, a tight t-shirt, leather jacket, and cuffs. He’s even - goddammit, he’s even wearing _eyeliner_ , and Phil’s not in the right emotional place to deal with this.

“If you’ll pardon me for saying so, sir, you don’t look fine,” Clint counters. 

Phil frowns, shakes his head, and reaches for his Agent Coulson mask. It isn’t far away, it never is any more, and he _needs_ it. He can’t - 

“Hey, no, I’m sorry, stop,” Clint interrupts, stepping forward. His hands are up, but he must not miss the way Phil flinches, because he stops. “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice low and sincere. “I’m sorry, it’s okay, you’re safe.”

Phil swallows, because he knows that. Clint would never hurt him. He’s just messed up right now. “I’m fine,” he repeats, raspy.

Clint blinks, but doesn’t argue. “What do you need?” he asks instead. “A ride back to your apartment? To base?” He stops and looks at Phil, probably taking in his open shirt collar, the hastily re-donned suit, and his tone gentles. “A drink?”

Phil chokes out a laugh, because - yeah. “A drink,” he agrees. “A really, really stiff one.”

They go to a bar not far away - _not_ the one Phil had been in an hour ago, thankfully - and sit down. It’s empty except for the disinterested bartender. Clint orders Phil a scotch on the rocks and gets himself a cranberry juice, because he doesn’t drink if he doesn’t have to for a mission. He looks at Phil. “Do you want to tell me what happened?” he asks, and then hesitates. “I might understand.”

Phil stares at his scotch. Clint would. He’s the only one Phil knows who would. “I got picked up in a bar,” he says, not looking away from his drink. “I wasn’t out looking, just getting a beer after work, you know what Rio was like.”

He feels more than sees Clint’s nod. Clint knows, he was there. It’s probably why he’s dressed up tonight - he was going dancing, maybe, his own way of working off the frustration caused by messy ops.

“I was drinking at the bar and a guy walked up. He started flirting.” Phil quirks a smile, and takes a sip of his scotch. “It doesn’t happen often, I mean - ” He uses the glass to gesture to himself. “So I figured, hey? Why not take a chance?” He shakes his head. “Things were going well, we went back to his place, and then the pants came off.”

Clint sucks in a breath, like he knows where this story goes. He isn’t wrong. 

“Yeah,” Phil acknowledges. “He was fairly nice about it, over all. Said he wouldn’t have hit on me if he had known, but he still kicked me out real quick. Said he wanted to get fucked by a ‘real’ man.”

Clint lets out a hiss of breath. “He’s an asshole.”

Phil hunches his shoulders. “I know.”

“He got to - what? Touch you? Kiss you? He should have been fucking _grateful,_ ” Clint spits.

Phil looks at him in surprise. “What?”

Clint stops, his face going slack. “Uh…”

Phil shakes his head. “Nothing.” Of course it’s nothing. “There’s no way you…” No, he’s had far too much to drink tonight. Still, he finishes off the scotch before rising slightly unsteadily to his feet. “Thanks for the drink, Clint, and for listening. I’ll see you back in the office on Monday.” He’s going to go home and sleep, and then putter around the apartment all weekend feeling sorry for himself. It’ll be okay, it’s been a while, it’ll be cathartic. 

“No, wait,” Clint says, reaching out an arm to brush his fingers along Phil’s sleeve. “I didn’t - ” He takes a deep breath, eyes wild, looking like a man going to his own execution. “I _do_.”

Phil stops and looks at Clint, confused. “You do what?”

“ _Like_ you, like that. I - ” Clint swallows. He still looks terrified, but his gaze is steady. His straightens his shoulders out. “I like you. Everyone should like you. If that guy didn’t appreciate you, then that’s his loss, and he’s an idiot for having you and throwing you away.”

Phil must be hallucinating. “No,” he says. “Not - not you. Clint, you - not _once._ ”

“So many times,” Clint counters. “So many hours, and nights, and - fuck - _days,_ but I couldn’t - ” He takes a deep breath. “You’re so out of my league, and your friendship is the most important thing to me. I couldn’t risk it. I _wanted_ to, I had so many plans about how to, but I couldn’t.”

Phil stares at him. “No.”

Clint’s lips curl, a ghost of his usual carefree grin. “Even you don’t have eyes in the back of your head.”

Phil blinks. That is true. “But you’re willing now?”

Clint looks terrified, but also determined. “I am.”

Phil shakes his head. “No, if you mean that - really mean that - then we aren’t just falling into bed at the end of a hard day. We are waiting until your promotion comes through, and then I’m taking you out to dinner. After two or three dinners, if you still want to - if you’re _sure_ \- then I’m taking you home and spreading you out on my bed, where you belong, and I’m keeping you there forever.”

Clint’s eyes go dark, hot and hungry, and he stares at Phil likes he wants to eat him alive. “Do you mean that?”

Phil has to clench his fingers around the cushion of his bar stool to keep himself from pulling Clint into his arms. “Yes, I mean that. I - _Clint._ ”

“ _Phil,_ ” Clint breathes.

They stare at each other for a moment before Phil takes a deep, deliberate breath, and pulls himself back. “I’ll… I’ll see you in the office on Monday.”

“Yeah,” Clint rasps. “Monday. Okay.”

 

*

 

The next two weeks pass with agonizing slowness. Clint and Phil share heated looks, and lingering cups of coffee, and innocent touches that aren’t so innocent after all. Clint still looks scared, but not as nervous, and Phil just hopes he’s giving him enough time to think through his decision. 

It’s agonizing, but Clint still hangs out on Phil’s sofa, and Phil still gets his work done, and the two of them work on being professional _and_ completely gone on each other, all at the same time.

Fury cuts them a break after fifteen days by finally calling Clint into his office and bestowing him with level six status. Clint walks out looking dazed, and stumbles into Phil’s office to fall onto his couch. “He said he was _proud_ of me.”

Phil grins and shuts down his computer, walking over to Clint so he can put a hand on his arm. “I’m sure he is; I know I am. You’ve done wonderfully, Clint. You’re going to make an amazing level six agent.”

Clint smiles, low and real. “Thank you.”

Phil shifts. “So, um…”

“Yes, Phil,” Clint laughs. “I still want you.”

“Only if you’re sure,” Phil presses. “I would want to make you uncomfortable. That’s the _last_ thing I want.”

“I’m sure,” Clint says, sounding honest. “I was afraid for so long, but if I get to have this - really _have_ this - and not lose everything, then that’s what I want, one hundred percent.”

“Okay, then,” Phil sighs, relieved. “I’ll make us reservations for dinner. Does seven sound okay?”

Clint looks surprised. “Dinner? Really? Even after - ” He gestures between them. “You know I’m a sure thing.”

Phil narrows his eyes. “Even more so, then. Someone needs to treat you the way you deserve to be treated, and until you come to your senses, that someone is going to be me.” He touches Clint’s knee. “I meant what I said that day, Clint. Every word.”

Clint shivers. “Okay, dinner.”

They make it through two dates before Clint breaks down Phil’s carefully cautious plan, shaking in Phil’s arms after a delicious meal of steak and pasta. “Please take me home with you,” he begs breathlessly.

Phil can’t help but draw him closer, running a soothing, possessive hand down his back. “Of course, baby.”

They start kissing in the elevator, and stumble into Phil’s apartment still intertwined. Phil breaks away long enough to toe off his shoes and kneel down to help Clint out of his boots. He can’t help but run a hand up Clint’s inseam as he does. 

Clint flushes. “You won’t, ah, find what you’re looking for there,” he says, and then lets out a nervous chuckle. “But then again, I guess you knew that, huh?”

Phil grins up at him, still on his knees. “I see everything that I’m looking for,” he assures him. He runs a hand up the front of Clint’s jeans, then stands, drawing Clint back in and kissing him. “What I want to do is make you feel good, Clint. I want to make you feel half as good as you make me feel every day.”

Clint licks his way into Phil’s mouth. “You always make me feel good.” 

Phil kisses him back. “What do you like? Fingers? Tongue? Cock? I’ve got a rainbow to choose from.”

Clint grins. “A rainbow, huh?”

Phil flushes. “Will you tease me horribly if I admit that I bought the purple one because it reminded me of you?”

Clint’s eyes light up. “Really?” He raises his leg to rub it suggestively along Phil’s hip. “How so?”

“It’s wide, and ribbed, and it drives me crazy when it’s deep inside of me,” Phil admits, “and I can’t seem to get enough of it.”

Clint’s eyes go dark. “New plan,” he says, breathless. “I’m fucking _you_.”

“I’ve actually got another pink-purple dildo that’s double-ended,” Phil tells him. “We can try that one, too.”

Clint groans. He kisses Phil hungrily. “So many options. Fuck, I want to do every one of them _now._ ”

“You fuck me,” Phil decides, taking command, “and then I’ll fuck you. We’ll sleep, have breakfast, and then try out the double-ended dildo.”

Clint licks his way deep inside Phil’s mouth. “Good plan.”

Phil may have always hated his breasts, but he has to admit that he loves his vagina. He still wishes he had a cock, but he loves the feeling of getting filled up, deep inside. Unlike most men, he can get filled up in both the front _and_ the back. 

Clint fits just fine into Phil’s strap-on, and Phil attaches the purple dildo with hands that shake with need. Clint runs fingers wet with lube over Phil’s two holes, and then looks up at Phil with hungry eyes. “Where?”

“My ass,” Phil gasps, arching his hips. He reaches under his pillow and pulls out his favourite G-spot stimulator. “I’ll put this inside near my clit.”

“Fuck _yes,_ ” Clint groans. 

The sex is good - the dildo is hard and wide and perfect - but it’s Clint’s hands on his hips that drive Phil over the edge, his short, callused fingers digging needily into Phil’s skin. Phil rocks against the G-spot stimulator and comes, crying out. 

Clint pants to a stop after, rocking slightly in and out of him before pulling away. 

“Here,” Phil says shakily, taking the stimulator out of his vagina and turning Clint over. He deftly removes the strap-on, fingers quick over the buckles and straps, and licks at Clint’s clit, causing him to gasp, eyes wide. His hips stutter, but Phil shakes his head. “No, no - I want to fuck you.”

Clint nods, but he looks overwhelmed, so Phil moves up and kisses him again. He lets Clint catch his breath before he starts building him back up, sucking on his tongue and rubbing wide circles into his hip. Pretty soon Clint’s moaning into Phil’s mouth, pulling him closer and murmuring, “Please, please, fuck me now, _please_.”

Phil shifts back just long enough to buckle himself into the strap-on. He changes out the purple dildo for a long, pink attachment he’s fantasized about fucking Clint with a number of times. “This okay?”

“Perfect,” Clint breathes. “Do me from the front? Hard and deep.”

“Deep?” Phil confirms, lubing himself up.

“Deep,” Clint gasps. “ _Please._ ” 

“I’m coming, baby,” Phil murmurs, warming Clint up with two fingers before sliding the dildo in. Phil doesn’t know what a flesh and blood cock would feel like, but this feels _perfect._ He’s nestled in between Clint’s thighs and something that’s attached to him is pushing deep inside of Clint’s body. 

He rocks against Clint, setting up a rhythm, and Clint starts to shiver and moan. “Phil, _Phil,_ ” he chants. “I need - ”

“I’ve got you,” Phil promises, leaning in to kiss him before turning the G-spot stimulator on and pressing it to the front of Clint’s clit. It isn’t inside of him, but Phil knows from experience that the vibrations will travel just as well. 

Clint seems to appreciate it. “ _Fuck,_ ” he gasps. Phil presses his dildo all the way in while rocking the stimulator against Clint’s clit. Clint starts to shake. “Oh, _oh._ ”

Phil holds him while he shudders through his orgasm, only thumbing off the stimulator when Clint starts to pull away. Phil moves slowly, pulling the dildo out, and then unclips the strap-on and cuddles close to Clint, pressing a kiss to the corner of his lips. “Are you okay?”

“Fucking fantastic,” Clint murmurs, still trembling. “I didn’t know - _wow_.”

Phil grins. “Now we’re going to sleep, and then we’re going to wake up and do that again, and again, and again” 

“Yes,” Clint agrees, tilting his head up for a kiss. “A hundred times yes.”

 

*

 

Epilogue

 

“Evans is a _dick,_ ” Clint complains, falling onto Phil’s couch with a huff. 

Phil looks up from his computer with a smile. Everything else has changed, but this hasn’t - whenever they’re in the same time zone, Clint still commandeers Phil’s couch. “What did she do?”

“She kicked me off the Brazil mission because her team’s taking over,” Clint grouses. 

Phil frowns. “She didn’t invite you to join?”

“No,” Clint huffs. “But,” he admits, “she did say there were orders coming from higher up. I’m meeting Fury in his office in fifteen. Still, she could have been nicer about it.”

“She is rather brusk,” Phil admits, “but she gets the job done. Do you know what Fury wants to talk to you about?”

Clint shakes his head. “No, but I hope it’s nothing to do with Stark. Nat’s been sending me texts and her use of angry faces is increasing.”

Phil frowns. “I know, I have my own meeting with Nick in an hour. I think he’s going to send me out there.”

“Aw, then I _do_ hope I’m redirected that way,” Clint says, rolling over onto his front so he can give Phil bedroom eyes. “It’d be nice to spend more time together.”

Phil comes out from behind his desk and presses a kiss to Clint’s lips. “I agree. I tell you what - the first chance I get, I’ll request sniper support for back up. I’m sure no one will blink an eye.”

“Why?” Clint asks with a grin. “Because we’re the worst kept secret in S.H.I.E.L.D.?”

“No, because no matter what, you’re still the world’s greatest marksman,” Phil says, “and I only work with the best.”

Clint smiles. “That you do. Well, in that case, I look forward to being pulled from my new assignment.”

Phil kisses him again, and then gently pushes him towards the door. “Go on, or you’re going to be late.”

“It’s part of my charm,” Clint tries, but Phil just laughs.

“That’s it exactly. Text me if I’ll see you tonight.”

“Will do,” Clint promises. He leans in for one last kiss. “I love you.”

Phil holds him tight for a moment. “I love you, too.”

 

~ The End


End file.
